Lately, I've been pondering what it truly means to be a good person. Many people, especially strangers, refer to me as kind. But the reality is that I rarely behave in a way that fully aligns with that noble label. I had an experience recently that made me question how genuine my kindness really is, and I think it sheds light on a common misconception many of us might share about our own goodness.
The story begins with an after-work stroll that my colleagues and I had planned. We share inside jokes and common interests, making it a comfortable, familiar gathering. However, during the discussion of when and where to meet, we were overheard by a colleague, let’s call her Ulyana. She works in the same company, but we aren’t close friends. When she asked to join us, there was a moment of hesitation. It wasn’t that we didn’t like her; it’s just that we weren’t eager to spend time with someone we didn’t know well. But politeness prevailed, and reluctantly, we agreed.
What followed was an evening where I found myself increasingly irritated by Ulyana’s presence. As we walked, we had to curb our usual banter because she was constantly offended by our jokes. Eventually, she hurt her foot, and instead of continuing the walk, we found ourselves sitting on benches, trying to accommodate her discomfort. Internally, I wrestled with myself, asking whether I could bear this minor inconvenience. Was it really so hard to put up with a small discomfort when she was dealing with much more? Surely, that’s what kindness looks like.
The sad truth is that, in that moment, I wasn’t being kind. I was merely being polite, following social norms. I felt no real compassion; my actions were driven by the expectation of civility rather than genuine empathy. I wanted the evening to end and to go home without her, even though I knew she needed help. At the end of the night, I pretended to be heading in the opposite direction, just to avoid walking home with her. Despite knowing she had a wounded foot and was alone, I ignored her need for assistance. I let her make her way to the subway by herself, telling myself that she’d be fine, and convincing myself that I was off the hook.
Later, I thought about how many times strangers had offered their help to me, how many times I had been invited to join groups, even when I was just an acquaintance. I had accepted these acts of kindness without a second thought, assuming they were just normal gestures. And yet, when it came time for me to reciprocate, I couldn’t find it within me to offer even the smallest act of kindness.
When I hear someone say, “You’re a good person,” I feel a wave of discomfort. Maybe I’ll never fully soften my heart, but I pray that at least, beneath the mask of politeness, I can act with true compassion. I hope that one day my actions will be driven by love, but for now, I’ll settle for pretending to be kind, as a form of practice, as a beginning.
This experience has reminded me that kindness is not always as simple as it seems. It’s not just about following social conventions or being polite when it’s convenient. True kindness comes from a place of selflessness, where we are willing to inconvenience ourselves for the sake of others. In a world where so many of us rush through life, absorbed in our own concerns, it’s easy to forget that sometimes, the smallest acts of kindness can make the biggest difference.
Original article: radiovera.ru/pritvorshhica-tatjana-ljubomirskaja.html